


After I'm Gone

by lemoncellbros



Series: Macaw's Works [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, John's Funeral, M/M, Sherlock's Funeral, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-16 08:06:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14807517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoncellbros/pseuds/lemoncellbros
Summary: What does a funeral look like from the dead person's perspective?Find out what their funerals look like from John and Sherlock's point of view.





	1. John's POV

“John Hamish Watson was a man true to his heart. He was a wonderful doctor, father, and friend. He spent his years at the side of one Sherlock Holmes, saving lives without regard for his own health. John Watson was a man who loved wholly, and who hated with a burning passion. He was strong, honest, and a saint to the many he’d known and saved."

“Most knew him only for his role at the side of Holmes, quietly blogging their experiences together. From the outside looking in, he was nothing more than a sidekick. But he was truly the most remarkable man I’ve ever met, and a good man at that.”

John stood idly by in a corner, his consciousness viewing this spectacle from beyond. Pews upon pews were filled with men and women, young and old, grieving the loss of him. His body lay in the open casket before him, arms crossed over his uniform from the Fusiliers, hair parted into a neat comb over. 

A photo of him sat on a stand to the side of his mahogany coffin, surrounded by a wreath of beautiful flowers. John watched dozens of people he’d saved throughout his days speak wonderful things about him, tell stories of his adventures, his heroism, of his loyalty. 

The service ended, and hundreds of crying families filed out the church door in waves. It was only once the doors closed and the only light was that of the fleeting sunlight filtering through the stained windows that John noticed him. 

A man in a flowing trench coat and blue scarf, hair a curly mess a top his head was seated in the third row to the back. Racking sobs could be heard from Sherlock Holmes, interrupted by John’s name at random intervals. John could see that he held a small object in his gloved hands, folded over it in a protective manner. Slowly, Sherlock stood and made his way to John’s casket. 

Sherlock traded the object into his left hand, and placed his right on the casket. John’s heart wrenched when he saw what Sherlock was holding; John’s gun. 

“My Dear Watson, I am sorry. I shall see you soon, friend.”

Sherlock’s hand was tight on the gun as he wept for his friend. John wanted to run to him, to tell him not to do it. To tell him this wasn’t his fault. To tell him he loved him. But John’s knees were locked, his body frozen. 

John watched in horror as Sherlock stuffed the glock in his pocket, watched with tears streaming down his face as Sherlock spoke.  
“It would be uncouth of me die here, though. Fear not John, we will be reunited soon.”

And John cried and shouted as Sherlock turned away from the casket, striding out of the church. He tugged on his hair and screamed for him not to do it, his heart seizing at the look of finality and peace he saw on Sherlock’s face as he turned and left.

And not a minute later, a shot was heard from outside the church.

And not a moment after that, the detective and his doctor were together again.


	2. Sherlock's POV

Sherlock Holmes had died a quick and easy death, a bullet to the temple, as peaceful as he had ever expected for himself. He anticipated few people to attend his funeral- A man like Sherlock made many enemies in his life. Sherlock estimated a safe 10 attendants for his funeral. And for the first time in Sherlock's afterlife, he was dearly wrong.

Pews upon pews were filled with adoring fans, all grieving the loss of their favorite detective. Hundreds of people he'd saved spoke wonderful things about him, sharing funny antidotes and stories of his brilliance. Few people cried, but many clutched their deer stalker hats close to their chests and mourned. Sherlock and John's consciousnesses sat on Sherlock's coffin, hand in hand, watching over the congregation.

Mycroft Holmes and Mrs. Hudson were long dead, but Sherlock had a feeling that they were there in some way, just as he was. Lestrade was there, trying to remain stoic, but sobs tugged at the hard lines of his face. Beside him, was Molly Hooper, who'd prepared Sherlock's body for the funeral. She was openly sobbing, grasping Lestrade's arm and leaning heavily on the man.

Adoring fans shared their experiences with one Sherlock Holmes, adoration clear on their faces. The final man to speak was Greg Lestrade himself.

He stepped up to the pedestal, grief written plainly on his features. Silent sobs wracked his body, his shoulders slumped forward as he placed his hands on either side of the pedestal. He looked long and hard at the congregation, nodded to Molly in the front row, and to Anderson, who'd been sitting undetected in the last row. When he spoke, his deep voice trembled and shook with the loss of his friend.

"Sherlock Holmes was the most brilliant man I have ever met. He saved many of you in this room, working valiantly and with the help of the ever loyal John Watson. Sherlock Holmes may have been an arrogant dick and a sociopath, but goddammit, he was a good man."

And with that, Greg Lestrade stepped away from the pedestal and to the front of Sherlock's coffin. He stood at attention in that spot for a full minute, then gave a stiff salute. He dropped the salute and returned to the spot next to Molly.

The funeral was two hours long. Thousands of people filtered in and out of the church in that time, giving their sincere goodbye's to London's greatest detective.

Sat on top of that coffin, hand in hand with John, Sherlock Holmes had never felt more at peace.


End file.
